


Real Men Don't Wear Girdles

by HalfFizzbin



Series: Girdle!verse [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alliteration, BAMF!Merlin, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Legends, M/M, Pining, Romance, inaccurate Old English, lazy songwriting, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfFizzbin/pseuds/HalfFizzbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Gawain and the Green Knight took place in the Merlin universe, it might have been a tiny bit different—because there's no way Merlin would let Gwaine traipse off on his own to get his head chopped off. Includes attempted alliterative verse, bawdy songs, evil deer, made-up spells, clichés, and a truly insane amount of fluffiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Men Don't Wear Girdles

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for my bff fledmusic on LJ, and is already posted in her fic community and in the "Merlin and Gwaine's Bar" community. I just wanted to get in on the AO3 action :D

**PROLOGUE:**

_On New Year’s Night, the new king feasted_   
_after the wedding, his wife a wonder—_   
_sweet Guinevere, glorious beauty,_   
_from lowly maid to lovely queen,_   
_whom noble Arthur ardently adored._   
_The feast was the first since his father’s passing,_   
_six long months of mourning, measured_   
_by a grieving son’s uncertain strength,_   
_by the somber quiet of coronation_   
_in the shadow of Uther’s untimely death._   
_So Arthur dithered before he dared_   
_to join finally and forever with Gwen,_   
_the queen who kept him worthy of the crown._   
_The knights, laughing, lounged about the hall,_   
_calling for mead and meeting the king_   
_cup for cup. Courageous Lancelot,_   
_at last returned from his rambling ways_   
_in the wild to serve his sovereign there,_   
_sat leaning against his lady’s throne,_   
_singing a sweet air as the queen smiled._   
_Mighty Percival, proud and kind_   
_and charming, teased in a chivalrous way_   
_a kitchen girl (who’d had quite enough_   
_of courting, and wished he’d cut to the chase)._   
_Brave Elyan, nervous still in knighthood,_   
_smiled to see his sister so grand_   
_and toasted to life with the good Sir Leon._   
_The castle was cold but they could not feel it_   
_in their happy hearts and their hard-won peace,_   
_the hearths burning hot in the hallowed halls_   
_of a faithful Camelot free from fear._   
_All eyes were locked on the lady and Arthur_   
_with reverence, save one rebellious knight_   
_who watched a single serving boy._   
_The servant was Merlin (much more than he seemed),_   
_a raven-haired waif with a pitcher of wine,_   
_winking at him from across the hall_   
_with a sun-bright smile one suffered all night_   
_dreaming of._   
_While Arthur and his Queen_   
_were glowing from above,_   
_Sir Gwaine was looking green—_   
_for he was sick with love._

 

  **FITT ONE:**

“No, but seriously,” Lancelot was saying, “I love you guys. I do.” He had found his way to the floor three goblets of wine ago, and was currently leaning against Gwen’s legs and staring with apparent fascination at her jeweled shoes. “Sparkly. Pretty. Your shoes are lovely and I love you guys.” He gave one of the shoes a pat.

“We know, Lance,” said Gwen, fondly. She reached down and steadied his hand before he could slosh wine all over her wedding dress, turning it into an affectionate caress when he peered up at her with big bleary eyes. “We love you, too, truly.”

“Um…” Arthur choked, because he was the king now, and it was undignified for the king to fall off his throne laughing. “Yes. You are a good knight and a fine… friend, and… such.”

“Your crown is nice. It’s shiny, like Gwen’s shoes,” Lancelot informed him happily. “Shiny like your shiny hair.”

“Quite,” said Arthur, his face coloring. Gwen covered her mouth with her hand and made a sound that she disguised as a delicate cough.

“More wine, Lancelot?” Merlin asked, all innocence. He waved the pitcher around a bit enticingly, hoping to find out what one more glass of Camelot’s finest vintage would do to Lancelot’s composure. This was without a doubt the best feast he had ever been to. As he refilled everyone’s drinks, he glanced around the hall, taking account of the reveling crowd. He thought that he’d never seen so many people he cared about looking happy at the same time. It was bewildering.

When he found the person he was looking for, his smile grew brighter involuntarily. Gwaine was sitting on his own, pushing a piece of pork around on his plate and staring into the middle distance with drunken intensity. He still wore the Pendragon red with an air of mistrust, like he expected the symbol of his knighthood to come to life and strangle him for being an impostor— just a shiftless scoundrel with a sword. Merlin knew better, of course; Gwaine was noble, and brave, chivalrous when it mattered, and really surprisingly kind. He was everything a knight should be. Of course, he was also a shiftless scoundrel with a sword, but that was part of what Merlin liked about him.

That and the fact that he was, all told, one of the most gorgeous men Merlin had ever seen in real life. The uniform didn’t hurt either, no matter how warily Gwaine wore it around his nice, muscled, very lovely shoulders.

Gwaine glanced up suddenly, meeting Merlin’s eyes. Caught, Merlin grinned and gave an exaggerated wink before turning back to Lancelot, cheeks burning. He needed a distraction from his own embarrassing thoughts, and figured that Lancelot’s embarrassing thoughts — all of which he was beginning to share out loud — would do quite nicely.

“Hey Lancelot, who do you reckon is more attractive: Arthur or Gwen?”

Lancelot, Merlin reasoned, loved nothing more than to rescue a friend in trouble, so he could not be angry about this betrayal in the morning.

“ _That_ ,” answered Lancelot, pointing a finger in Merlin’s general direction, “is an _excellent_ question, and one I shall attempt to answer in three parts. Firstly, in terms of complexion, while both are beyond compare I would have to say—”

Fortunately for Lancelot, nobody ever got to hear which of his sovereign’s complexions he found the most appealing. At that instant, every window in the hall burst outward, the roar of shattering glass drowning out all the music and the merry sounds, bringing total silence in its aftermath. In the void, the sound of hoofbeats echoing on stone could be heard, softly but clearly, as if in the distance but magically amplified. They quickly grew louder, giving the impression that they were drawing closer every second, until each step shook the long wooden tables. Merlin, struck numb with panic, could feel a powerful force building but could not find its origin. Something was coming and he was blind, powerless to stop it.

And then when the hoofbeats became so loud that they seemed to come from all around them, a wash of pure green light poured through the broken windows, and for a moment Merlin was blinded.

When his vision cleared, there it was: a massive horse standing in the middle of the hall, facing the thrones, as if it had just appeared there by magic (which, Merlin thought, obviously, it had). But more worrying still was that atop that horse sat an equally massive man, wearing scant armor and simple clothes, and looking far more intimidating than any man with leaves woven into his long, flowing hair had any right to look.

Also, both he and the horse were entirely, uniformly green. But Merlin could never hold his alcohol very well, and was probably hallucinating that bit.

“I SEEK KING ARTHUR,” the green man bellowed. Arthur, bless his idiot heart, started a bit in his seat, a sort of _who, me?_ expression passing briefly over his features before he remembered that he’d in fact been the king for six months.

“I am King Arthur of Camelot,” he answered, with admirable authority and composure given the fact that a giant green horse was now chewing on Gaius’ sleeve. “What have you come to ask of me?”

The giant removed a huge green gauntlet, tossing it theatrically to the floor. Merlin could not suppress his groan, because _of course._ Magical beings couldn’t just come to Camelot because they’d heard the cooks made lovely veal, it always had to be the dueling and the killing. “I challenge you before this court,” he roared. He seemed almost jovial, which made Merlin even more uncomfortable. “My challenge is thus: strike me a killing blow with this ax.”

The ax he pulled from a holster at his hip was, predictably, very large and very green.

“After I have stood for this blow, you must then stand for one in return. One week hence, you will find me again and allow me to strike you with this same ax.” He stroked his green beard smugly. “Who will accept my challenge?”

The knights of Camelot were very brave, of course, but they were also very drunk, and the situation was extremely confusing. No one moved.

“But this is nonsense!” the giant cried. “I have heard tales of the bravery and honor of the Camelot warriors! Are you all nothing but cowards after all?”

That, of course, got through to Arthur, who was (though very wise and just) still very much a _boy_ sometimes. He shot to his feet in a defiant huff. “Sir Knight, I—”

“Shut up!” Merlin hissed, panicked. All those years protecting Arthur, finally getting him his crown and his queen and his destiny, and now he was going to willingly do battle with a giant green _ax murderer?_

Arthur snorted. “That’s ‘shut up, _sire,_ ’ and it’s going to be fine. I’m to deal the first blow, how will it even be possible for him to deal the second one once his head is off?”

This was a good point, in theory, but— “He’s _magic,_ Arthur, obviously. He appeared out of thin air. He’s nine feet high. He’s _green._ Don’t you think you should reconsider this?”

“Merlin, I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I never will. I don’t care if he’s green or purple or covered in polka dots and paisleys, I’m doing it.”

“Well you’ll have to get to the gauntlet first!” Merlin cried wildly, and then took off running toward where the glove had been thrown. Arthur swore in a very un-kingly manner and started after him. Over the panicked buzz in his ears, Merlin thought he heard someone call his name, but he had almost reached the gauntlet so he ignored it, putting on a final burst of speed, and then—

—he collided with what felt like a solid but very warm wall, wrapped in a soft red cape. “No you don’t, Merlin,” murmured Gwaine’s voice in his ear, a strong arm slipping briefly around his waist to keep him from falling backward. Taken off-guard, Merlin lost sight of his goal for a moment, huffing a confused breath into Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine chuckled and pushed him away gently, kneeling down to pick up the gauntlet just as Arthur skidded to a stop next to them.

“Why is everyone always trying to die for me?” Arthur demanded, face thunderous. “By all that is holy, I _will not stand for it._ Give it back, Gwaine.” He made grabbing gestures at the gauntlet. “I accepted the challenge.”

“I think you’ll find that officially, sire, you never did,” Gwaine clarified breezily. “But if it makes you feel any better, I won’t die for you. I’ll die for Merlin here, instead. All right, Merlin?”

“Oh, _sod off,_ ” said Merlin, his heart fluttering a bit in his chest despite himself. “Nobody is going to die.”

“Somebody might die,” pointed out the green knight cheerfully. He seemed to be watching the proceedings with great amusement. “There is a bloody great ax involved.”

“Compensating for something?” Gwaine asked sweetly, and then Merlin was too busy rolling his eyes to prevent him from quickly adding “and I accept your challenge on behalf of Camelot, Sir Knight.”

“No!” groaned Arthur.

“You utter _prat,_ ” shrilled Merlin.

“Excellent!” said the green knight. He launched himself athletically off of his horse and retrieved his gauntlet from Gwaine, smirking as he put it on. “One blow,” he said, passing the giant ax to Gwaine, who tried to look as if merely holding the enormous thing up wasn’t a chore. “I will not defend myself.”

And he didn’t. With a grunt of effort, Gwaine swung the ax in a smooth arc and struck cleanly at the knight’s neck, severing the head with one blow. The head flew a few feet from the body, and Merlin watched with morbid fascination as it bounced a bit and rolled to a stop against a table-leg.

Then it started to laugh.

“A fine blow!” said the head approvingly. “All in one swing!” As the crowd gaped, the still-standing body of the green knight marched over to where his head had rolled and scooped it up. Streaks of (green!) blood smeared the tunic and dripped onto the floor as the body hefted its head under one arm. “See you in one week’s time, Sir Gwaine!” the head said cheerfully. “I shall be at the Green Chapel. Don’t be late!”

Gwaine boggled. “How am I to find you, when the time comes?”

The massive shoulders shrugged. “Simply ride in the direction that your fancy takes you. You will find me.” The body made a deep bow toward a dumbfounded Arthur, and then toward Gwen where she stood frozen next to her throne. “Your Majesties.”

And then, in a flash of green light, the head and the body disappeared.

“Well, bugger,” said Gwaine, swaying drunkenly on his feet. Arthur fumed. Merlin slapped his hand over his face and sighed.

 

 ~*~

Merlin followed Gwaine to his rooms, and then stood seething with righteous indignation as the knight packed for his Death Quest. “You will not go. I forbid it.”

“Honestly, Merlin.” Gwaine cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “You are starting to sound like Arthur.”

“I mean it.” Merlin spun on his heel and started to pace the length of the chamber. “That man, that _thing_ is dangerous. Who knows who sent him! It’s a trap, you’re meant to _die_.”

“We don’t know for sure that it’s a trap.” Merlin stopped pacing to give him a withering look, and Gwaine sighed. “Okay, yes, it’s a very obvious trap. But what would you have me do, send another man to his death?” He resumed packing, trying to fit the giant ax into his small satchel. “I know I’m not really a knight, but I have some honor in me.”

“I was going to get to the gauntlet!” Merlin insisted, throwing his arms wide in exasperation. “Arthur would have been protected.”

Gwaine groaned. “Merlin,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a particularly stupid person, “it’s not Arthur that I was protecting.” He reached over and pushed against Merlin’s chest playfully, his palm warm through cloth, fingers momentarily brushing the skin of Merlin’s collarbone. “I mean, honestly. Could you have run for that gauntlet _any_ faster?”

Merlin cleared his throat, subconsciously rubbing his chest where Gwaine had touched him. “It’s my job to protect Arthur.”

“It isn’t. That idiot knighted me, so it’s _my_ job to protect him. And it’s also my job to watch over your foolish arse, so get over it and go get me some dried meat from the kitchens, if you’re so willing to help out. I ride out tomorrow.”

“Gwaine…” Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right. I’ll bring you some bread and some mead, too, if you promise not to drink it all on the first night.”

Gwaine grinned. “I promise no such thing. Now off with you.”

Merlin started from the room, the stopped and turned back. “Gwaine.” He coughed. “You know. You are.”

“I am… what?”

“You are a real knight.” He looked down at his boots, unaccountably shy. “A great one. And… that’s all.”

Merlin all but ran toward the kitchens, face flaming and heart in his throat.

 

**FITT TWO:**

_So Gwaine set out as the sun was rising,_   
_armor gleaming in the gray light,_   
_his sword shining and freshly sharpened,_   
_his shield painted with a gold pentangle_   
_(symbolizing something specific, I’m sure),_   
_his satchel light as his heart was heavy._   
_It felt like Death had dealt this deal,_   
_that a demon of sorts had dared him to strike,_   
_that he wasn’t to survive the swing of the ax._   
_Yet the life he led was lovely, now,_   
_and Gwaine was leery of losing it,_   
_afraid for the the first time in forever._   
_He had a home, a happy one,_   
_and had his purpose, knighted by a prince_   
_and serving a king he could be proud of._   
_But mostly his friend, so faithful and fair,_   
_whom Gwaine would love ‘til the moment he lost_   
_his head._   
_Yet never would he kiss him,_   
_nor take him to his bed—_   
_he hoped Merlin would miss him,_   
_and cursed words left unsaid._

 

The next morning dawned bright and clear, which Merlin thought was incredibly unfair under the circumstances. Gwaine had set out after the green knight at first light, while the mist was still hanging near the ground and the sky was still dark.

Merlin knew this because he was following him.

Gaius would understand, once he woke up and found the carefully-worded note Merlin had left for him ( _“Went after Gwaine. Sorry. Happy new year!”_ ) And anyway, it would just be stupid for Gwaine to lose his head just because Merlin wasn’t there to provide magical protection. He would just stay out of the way and make sure that everyone’s head stayed firmly attached. He liked Gwaine’s head where it was; it housed a brain that Merlin was quite fond of, plus it looked very handsome attached to the rest of Gwaine’s body, which Merlin also liked very much.

He tripped over a root, and ahead of him, Gwaine sighed.

“I’m going to stop pretending I don’t know you’re there now, Merlin,” he called. “It’s gotten more sad than funny.”

Merlin ran to catch up, frowning. “How long have you known?”

“Since we left the castle. Honestly, Merlin, you might as well have brought a horse; you’re even less subtle on foot, and now it’s going to take us twice as long to find this bloke with you trotting alongside.”

“You’re letting me come with you?” Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Is this a trick?”

Gwaine laughed. “No trick. I didn’t want you volunteering for the ax, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like your company. Like old times, eh? Just us and the road, off on a mission to keep your Arthur alive.” He smiled, strangely wistful. “I just assumed you wouldn’t be keen on running around aimlessly through the forest in the middle of winter waiting to bump into a magical chapel. But if you’re up for it…” He shrugged. “More the merrier!”

“You… you _berk_ , you let me dart from tree to tree and wade through snow for two hours!”

“Ay,” Gwaine agreed, eyes sparkling. “It was hilarious.”

“I was so worried!” Merlin heaved a breath, his lungs burning with the cold. “I thought I’d be too slow, that I’d lose you.”

Gwaine’s eyes turned warm, and he jumped down from his horse, placing a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm. “You won’t. I’ll walk with you.”

 

 ~*~

It was remarkably easy to forget about the world, out here in the woods with Gwaine. Merlin could feel the constant tension associated with his life evaporating—his magic (still secret), his job (still tedious), his king (still an enormous prat). Back home, he usually felt like he belonged to everyone else, like he only existed to ease Arthur’s way to greatness and, eventually, bring magic back to Camelot.

Tromping through the underbrush while Gwaine sang all the bawdiest drinking songs he could think of, though… this was a different feeling entirely.

“ _Where she’s gone I’ll never know, cheeks of roses and eyes all aglow,_ Come on, Merlin, I know you know this one! _And a hey! Ho! Which way should I go…._ I shall stop right here and wait until you finish the chorus, Merlin, don’t think I won’t! _And a hey! Ho! Which way should I go…._ ”

“ _For the maiden who makes my... manhood grow,_ ” Merlin sang, barely getting through it before he dissolved into giggles. Gwaine whooped joyfully and slapped him on the back, and Merlin pretended he wasn’t blushing, because _really_. “That refrain is so horrifying.”

“Wasn’t so horrifying when you belted it out no less than twelve times after Arthur’s coronation,” Gwaine pointed out, grinning wickedly. “We couldn’t stop you.”

“Yes, well… we were all rather drunk, weren’t we?”

Gwaine snorted. “Well, that’s putting it very mildly. _Aaaaaaaand East to West and North to South, they’re singing songs about your mouth, my darling…_ ”

The coronation had been a dark affair at first, marred by Arthur’s gloomy mood. Merlin and Gwaine had been particularly energetic at the feast afterwards, passing around wineskins and endless goblets of mead and whipping the court into a festival-like frenzy, trying to distract Arthur from his grief. Merlin hoped it had worked. Really though, he couldn’t remember much past his and Gwaine’s first reprise of “Farewell, My Bonny Bumpkin,” which was a song they had made up on the spot that had been popular enough to earn several encores.

“ _White as snow and blue as flame,_ ” Gwaine continued, a surprisingly lovely baritone in the background of Merlin’s thoughts, “ _skin of an angel and eyes of the same, my darling…_ ”

Merlin was mostly a happy person by nature, even with all the terrible things that had happened to him in his still-short lifetime—but it was rare for him to feel as completely _free_ as he did out here, with Gwaine. He loved Camelot and Arthur, obviously, but those things were only really his through that Great Destiny he kept hearing about. This, though, his time with Gwaine… this was something just for him.

“ _Aaaaand North to South to East to West, yours is the arse that I love the best &mdash_”

“I know you don’t believe it possible, Gwaine, but there is such a thing as too many bawdy songs, and I think you hit the limit ten miles back.”

“ _—to enjoy! From far and wide, all are impressed, you’ve the sweetest ears, I can attest..._ ”

Merlin bit his lip against a grin. “Oh, come on, you’re just making these up now—”

“ _My darling boy!_ ” Gwaine finished with a triumphant flourish.

And Merlin walked directly into a low-hanging branch.

“That was my last song, I swear. Now’s a good time to stop for the night, don’t you think? You all right there, Merlin?”

They made camp in a clearing near the river, and Merlin hoped that the constant singing had scared off scared off enough squirrels to keep their rations safe for the night.

“I got the wood,” Gwaine announced, dumping the huge pile of branches in the middle of their campsite. “But you have to light the fire. Flint’s here. You’ve got this way with fire, you know. What’s for dinner, dried pork and bread?”

He turned away to look through the saddlebags, which gave an off-balance Merlin a chance to light the fire with a glance and a tiny gesture, banging the flint against the steel a bit for authenticity. Gwaine turned around just as he was blowing gently at the base of the fire, pretending to bolster the flames. Gwaine seemed briefly mesmerized by this before he shook himself awake and threw Merlin a little bundle of cloth, which turned out to contain a few strips of dried meat and a rather large chunk of bread. “There you go. Eat up, come on.”

“But this is so much!” Merlin crossed to the other side of the fire and sat next to Gwaine, peering at the other man’s bundle. “Where’s your bread?”

“It’s your bread now, my friend. It’s bloody freezing and you’re built like a tentpole.”

“Hey!”

“But what a _lovely_ tentpole!” he placated, poking Merlin’s ribs.

“Owwww,” complained Merlin, beaming. “Having to deal with Arthur is bad enough. Now you’re going to start bullying me too?”

“Never,” said Gwaine with mock solemnity, “as long as I shall live. Now eat your bread.”

 

 ~*~

Merlin woke from overly-pleasant dreams with hot skin and a dry throat, with Gwaine still sleeping deeply beside him, oblivious to the world.

 _Damn_ , Merlin thought emphatically, because right now he needed nothing more than some fresh, cold water, and that meant going to the stream, and that meant going out into the cold, away from the magically-warming fire and the comforting rhythm of Gwaine’s deep, even breaths.

“ _Byrne_ ,” Merlin muttered quietly into his palm, huddling around the scant light and warmth of the flame as he picked his way through the undergrowth. He let the tiny fire go, balancing on the air as it burned, and knelt at the bank of the stream to splash his face and neck liberally with the icy water.

It was only because of the extra light from the flame that Merlin saw it. As he was bending down, cupping water between his palms and bringing it to his mouth, something in the river seemed to writhe unnaturally.

That was the only warning he got before something rough and scaly wrapped tight around his wrists and pulled, sending him under and out toward the deepest part of the river.

The shock of submersion in the cold water was intense, tiny blades through his skin and his lungs. With his wrists bound by the tail or tentacle or… whatever, all of Merlin’s struggling was fruitless. He aimed a few sharp, panicked kicks in a generally-downward direction, which seemed to glance off of the slender, powerful body of the thing that was pulling him forward and down. There was no time to think of a spell, and no air to incant one anyway, so Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, centered his magic and _pushed out_.

It was sort of embarrassingly desperate, but it worked, at least momentarily. The thing let out a sound, an eerie scream that carried underwater, and the appendage that held his wrists loosened. Merlin swam hard toward where he assumed the shore was, but when he finally broke the surface he was actually in the middle of the river and being swept downstream. He gasped for breath and gave one shout for help, magnified with a last-ditch burst of magic, before the tail wrapped around his ankles and pulled straight down. Weakened by the cold and the expenditure of power, he lost consciousness, and his last thought was that this was a really depressing and stupid way to die.

But then he was opening his eyes to Gwaine’s face, hovering and looking very stricken. And wet. Merlin opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, and instead rolled to the side to vomit up about a gallon of river water.

“Oh, that is so disgusting,” Merlin croaked, chest heaving.

“Merlin!” Gwaine cried, gathering him close and hugging him tightly. Merlin could barely feel it, what with being numb from the cold, but he still appreciated it. He imagined that the warmth from Gwaine’s body was leeching into his limbs, bringing him back to life, and he shuddered once, hard. Gwaine’s arms tightened, and he brushed his lips very quickly to one of Merlin’s ears. “God. What are you even _doing_ out here?”

“Water,” said Merlin, which admittedly did not explain very much at all. “I mean, I needed…”

“You’re damned lucky I saw your fire, or you’d probably still be under there.”

“Yes, lucky,” agreed Merlin. “Wait, what?”

“Your little fire. It followed you.” Gwaine was gently looking him over now, feeling for bumps and scrapes. “The thing was darting around like a crazed bird over the water, right above where that serpent dragged you down. How did you think I found you so fast?”

“I don’t… it followed me?” Merlin’s head felt like it was stuffed with particularly scratchy wool.

“Look.” Gwaine raised his eyes, to where the little flame was dancing frantically over their heads.

“Huh,” said Merlin.

“Oh, please don’t tell me—you didn’t even do it on purpose?” Gwaine chuckled weakly. “The devil’s own luck, you have. How the hell are you still alive?”

“You knew?” Merlin pulled back from Gwaine’s hold and looked him blearily in the eye. “You knew about my…” He waved his hand around again, illustratively.

“Your _magic_ , you mean?” Gwaine said dryly. “I should say so. You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“I don’t…” Merlin tried to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. The little flame was still flitting and bobbing about in his peripheral vision, so he waved at it weakly, eyes flashing. It dwindled away, and Merlin’s half-delirious eyes, it looked sad to go.

“Merlin. The first time we met, you were _throwing plates with your mind._ I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret. Surely _Arthur_ knows?” Merlin coughed, averting his eyes. Gwaine’s eyebrows went up. “No. Really?”

“Arthur is often… distracted with other things.”

“Clearly.” Gwaine looked oddly pleased. “Well, I certainly noticed you.” He cleared his throat. “Saw you. Saw you doing magic, I mean. We need to get you back to the camp. Brace yourself, I’m going to pick you up.”

“Um,” said Merlin, as Gwaine lifted him easily, bridal-style, and began to walk. “This is really embarrassing.”

“Well, I am also going to strip off your clothes and warm you with my body,” said Gwaine cheerfully, “and that’s probably going to be worse.”

 _Oh god,_ thought Merlin.

 

 ~*~

The next morning started out well, all things considered. Merlin woke up mostly naked, which was, for him, usually a bad sign. But Gwaine was wrapped up against him inside the blankets, one bare arm curled protectively over Merlin’s chest. It was almost overly warm now, with the campfire was still raging. He put out a hand and extinguished it. “ _Ic i sciepe se wealhháfoc_ ,” he whispered, and the resulting swirls of smoke and ash resolved into the shape of a bird against the pale sunrise.

“Oh yes, _subtle_ ,” rumbled Gwaine at the back of Merlin’s neck. “Truly, you are a genius of subterfuge.”

“You shut up.” Merlin shifted, stretching, trying not to dislodge Gwaine. “I’m away from Camelot and you apparently already know… about me. This is my only chance to have fun.”

“Magic is the only thing you do for fun?” Merlin could feel the teasing smirk against his skin. “Well, that is just a little bit sad. What kind of red-blooded peasant boy are you?”

“A terribly boring one, I suppose,” sighed Merlin dramatically, rolling over to give him a retaliatory shove. They both overbalanced and toppled, and Merlin ended up leaning on his elbows and awkwardly pinning Gwaine—who was looking up at him with a bit of a dazed, winded expression—on his back against the hard ground.

“Ow,” said Gwaine, vacantly.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll just…” Merlin tried to shift off, but Gwaine’s hands caught his hips and held them.

“Wait, Merlin, I…”

“Deer,” said Merlin blankly, staring into the woods behind Gwaine’s head.

“Dear?” said Gwaine, smiling.

“No, what—DEER. Look, it’s—” Merlin slid out of Gwaine’s grip, keeping low to the ground. “It’s looking at us, no sudden movements.”

Gwaine, looking very disoriented, carefully rolled onto his stomach to look where Merlin was pointing. “Oh, I see. _Deer_.”

It was a like a deer, in the same way that the serpent from the river last night had been like a snake. It was vaguely deer-shaped, but three times the size and at least five times as horrifying. It stood perfectly still, watching them with a terrible gleam of intelligence in its eyes.

“Well, then,” said Gwaine, resigned. He stood up smoothly, then gallantly reached down to help Merlin to his feet. “Looks like we’re going to have venison tonight.”

He drew his sword, still half-dressed, and went after the deer monster with a furious intensity that Merlin didn’t think was quite warranted. It was pretty impressive to watch, though.

Later that, they encountered two more overlarge deer, one fox, three fierce rabbits (not as funny as it sounded), and, the worst, a bear that stood at least twenty feet high. Every one was impossibly malicious, and every one seemed to have the sole intent of killing the two of them specifically, which was, to say the least, a little odd. Gwaine managed to fell them all without too much trouble, but it was Merlin who defeated the bear in the end, roasting it in a huge conflagration before it could dig its claws into Gwaine’s belly.

“Fond of the fire tricks, then, aren’t you?” said Gwaine approvingly, giving him a one-armed hug of gratitude.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Merlin, feeling smug. “You should see my wind storms.”

Gwaine _did_ get to see his wind storm the next day when Merlin vanquished a gigantic, tenaciously violent owl. He was suitably impressed.

That night, as they were huddled around the fire warily eating their dinner, a raven swooped seemingly out of nowhere and perched on Gwaine’s horse. They thought nothing of it, until the raven proceeded to unlatch the saddlebags and carry off _all of their food and supplies._ Merlin and Gwaine watched, dumbfounded, as the bird disappeared over the horizon bearing a load ten times its size.

“Magic bird, then?” sighed Gwaine, breaking his remaining bread in half and tossing a piece of it into Merlin’s lap.

“Stop giving me your bread. And yes, I should say so. About the magic bird.”

“The green knight’s ax was in one of those pouches,” Gwaine pointed out. “Though at this rate, we’ll both be dead before I can face him anyway.

Merlin groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “This is ridiculous. These animals, they’re being enhanced, controlled by something, and all of them want _us_. It’s as if every sorcerer in the land is out to kill us.”

“Or just one, very powerful sorcerer,” Gwaine pointed out. “Though I can’t see how that would be much better. Do you suppose it could be the green giant?”

Merlin considered. “It feels like someone else’s magic,” he decided.

“There are different kinds of magic? And you can feel the difference?” Gwaine looked intrigued, which was an unfamiliar and rather refreshing response to magic-related topics.

“Only people who have magic can feel it, I think,” said Merlin. “It’s all sort of mysterious to me, too. But green giant’s power definitely felt kind of earthy, and expansive. Whoever’s doing this, though… the power behind it seems more… bright? Cold? Like, I don’t know, if a star were made of ice but could still burn.” He shrugged, embarrassed by his digression and by Gwaine’s intent gaze. “It’s hard to explain.”

“What does _your_ magic feel like, I wonder?”

Merlin snorted. “Nobody’s ever told me,” he said wryly. “But I doubt it would be pleasant. I’ve always supposed it would feel rather awkward; maybe itchy, like wool blanket in summer, or prickly like those pins and needles you get when your limbs fall asleep.”

“Nonsense,” Gwaine scoffed. He leaned back on his elbows and gazed into the distance with a small, thoughtful smile . “Ask the next sorcerer you meet, and he will tell you that your magic is… warm—no, _hot_ , like your fire spells, and wild, like your windstorms. Feverish, with goosebumps, and chills, and an ache in your chest. Dangerous, like going into battle unarmed, but safe, like…” He smiled, playing with the pendant around his neck. “Like a bed covered with goose-down pillows, and your mother’s chicken stew.”

“Good God,” Merlin laughed. “The itchy blanket scenario is far more likely. I don’t actually think it’s possible for one person to feel like all of those things at once.”

“Perhaps not,” said Gwaine, fixing him with an unreadable look, and Merlin, feeling as if he was missing something, took a bite of his bread.

It took him a very long time to get to sleep that night.

 

**FITT THREE:**

_Then dawned the fourth day of the fateful quest,_   
_and Gwaine the Gallant and Merlin the Gorgeous_   
_(or so the two were termed in Gwaine’s head)_   
_were out of food and following no path,_   
_just going where intuition guided them._   
_Through dark and lawless lands they ventured,_   
_vanquishing beasts which beset them there_   
_with wind and sword and swaths of fire,_   
_‘Til at last they glimpsed a glorious castle,_   
_so stark against the softening dawn,_   
_a gray-stone marvel of massive towers_   
_and sky-high turrets slicing the air._   
_Merlin insisted they invite themselves in_   
_to gather rations and review their options;_   
_Gwaine didn’t like the look of the place,_   
_and his too-kind friend was far too trusting_   
_that the lord of this imposing land,_   
_with its magic beasts and its food-stealing birds,_   
_would deign to welcome weary travelers._   
_But Merlin asked, and Gwaine acquiesced_   
_when Merlin blinked his luminous bright_   
_blue eyes._   
_So, though he felt quite sure_   
_that it would not be wise,_   
_he knocked upon the door_   
_and braced for a surprise._

 

Gwaine knocked for a third time, still hoping there wouldn’t be an answer. “This is a terrible idea, Merlin.” Looking exhausted from all the animal-vanquishing and from their lack of breakfast, he leaned his forearm against the enormous wooden door and rested his forehead against it. Merlin was undeterred.

“Come on, don’t you have sort of a good feeling about this place?”

“No, I don’t! I have the opposite of a good feeling about this place! What kind of castle just sits out on its own like this, without walls or defenses or even townspeople around it? I mean, Merlin, we’re _knocking on the door._ That’s not natural.”

Merlin shrugged, feeling oddly complacent. “Well, I feel like we’re supposed to be here. Like somebody wanted me here.”

“Yes,” agreed Gwaine. “Me too. That’s the trouble. If somebody wants us here, they may want to attack us with more mutant forest creatures.”

“This is getting backward, you know,” Merlin complained, leaning back against the imposing stone wall and trying to catch Gwaine’s eye with a comforting smile. “I’m supposed to be cautious. You’re supposed to be all drunk and devil-may-care and looking for adventure and not thinking things through. This is an entirely new side of you.”

Gwaine’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well, I understand that this is hard to believe, but I can be practical. And, _god forbid,_ intelligent. If I need to be.”

Damn it. “Gwaine—”

“You said I was a good knight. Though god knows why.”

“You _are_ a good—”

“I’m just trying to look out for your safety. You let _Arthur_ look out for you.”

Merlin snorted. “Hardly. Arthur’s king now and he counts himself lucky if I remember not to scold him about eating his vegetables in front of the foreign ambassadors.”

“You’ve never scolded _me_ about my vegetables.”

Merlin blinked. “I think I’m losing track of this conversation. Did you get _any_ sleep last night?”

Suddenly, the heavy door swung open, sending Gwaine stumbling forward. He recovered his posture with a graceful, fluid roll of his body that had Merlin both impressed and fascinated. Perhaps it was from all that swordfighting, but Arthur was the best warrior in the land, and had Arthur ever been that graceful or mesmerizing? Merlin didn’t think so.

“My lord,” said Gwaine, still sounding a bit awkward and forced with the formality but oozing irresistible charm all the same; “I am Sir Gwaine, a knight of Camelot. My companion and I are seeking shelter for the night, and perhaps some food if you can spare it. Ours was… lost, and most of the game in this part of the forest seems to want to kill us.”

“Ah, yes!” chortled the pleasant-looking man who had opened the door. “Had some trouble, have you? Well you may stay here as long as you like; I have nothing but room here, my friend, for a knight of Camelot!”

Gwaine bowed low, tense with the unfamiliarity of the gesture. Merlin tried to smother his smirk. “Thank you, my lord. We are very grateful.”

“Now, would your servant like to be shown to the kitchen to help prepare breakfast?”

Merlin was about to agree, albeit with a great deal of inward groaning and eye-rolling, when Gwaine said “I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood. I did say that this is my _companion_ , Merlin. He is not my servant.”

The man quirked a half-smile. “Of course. Yet with his clothing, you must forgive me for assuming…”

“I would prefer,” Gwaine said, with a hint of sharpness under his conciliatory tone, “that such an assumption not be made again. Merlin is my equal—in many ways my superior—”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.

“—and he is to be treated as such, no matter how unfortunate his clothing may be.” Gwaine tugged lightly on Merlin’s blue handkerchief to emphasize his point.

“Hey!” said Merlin, but he felt warm all over.

“I shall show you both to your room, then,” said the man, smiling outright now. “You will of course join my wife and me for our morning meal, and then we may hear about what you are doing out in these lands with no provisions or soldiers. Summon me if you have need of me before then; I am called Bertilac.”

“At least I don’t have a bloody necklace around my neck day and night, what’s _that_ about?” said Merlin once they were alone in their shared room, which had two beds (something Merlin found to be both a relief and a disappointment). “The handkerchief keeps my neck warm. So you can lay off it right now.”

“Real men,” said Gwaine, breezily, “wear necklaces, not handkerchiefs. It is incontestable fact. Your handkerchief hides your throat—”

“Hides my _what?_ ”

—“and it is not at all flattering. And also, this,” he said proudly, touching the sturdy chain around his neck, “is my mother’s necklace.”

“That doesn’t make it any less poncy,” Merlin pointed out in a singsong voice, and Gwaine laughed out loud, rubbing the pendant between his fingers.

“You’ve got me there. But you and I understand what it is like be all your mother has. I don’t mind looking a bit poncy to keep her close.”

Merlin tried hard not to find this ridiculously appealing, and failed. “What about the ring?”

“The what?” Gwaine was gazing at him absently, and had moved from stroking the pendant to fiddling with the gold ring that hung next to the pendant.

“The ring,” Merlin pressed. “It looks like a man’s.”

“Ah.” Gwaine’s mood went a bit somber. “It was my father’s.”

“Oh, Gwaine… I’m sorry, I should have guessed. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s all right.” Gwaine assured him. “I didn’t even know him, as you know, and actually the ring isn’t supposed to be mine. He gave it to my mother before he left home for the last time.” He shrugged, overly-casual. “Maybe he knew. That he wouldn’t be coming back. But my mother, she gave the ring to me when I turned sixteen. She said I should hold on to it, and wait, until I’d met the one person who I wanted to keep at my side always. And that I should give this ring to that person.”

“Oh,” Merlin’s sigh was, admittedly, a little girlish. “Your mother believes in true love, then?”

“One true love. That’s the way it was for her, she says. She’ll never want another.”

“Do you believe in all of that?” Merlin wondered, “or is it just something you agreed to do to make her happy, and you’re actually going to wear that ring around your neck forever?”

“Merlin,” Gwaine gasped in mock horror, “I have never in my entire life lied to my mother. I do plan to give this ring to somebody, someday.”

“What if you never find her?” Merlin prodded, perversely fascinated by the subject of Gwaine’s nebulous soulmate. “How do you know she’s out there?”

“Merlin, I can state with absolutely certainty that at this very moment, there is a person, a lovely, wonderful, nearly-perfect person, who completely deserves this ring, along with my lifelong fealty and devotion.” He grinned. “This person just isn’t aware of the honor yet.”

“No doubt,” agreed Merlin, feeling a little sick at the idea. “And this perfect girl, when you find her, she will wear this ring.” He reached up boldly and circled a fingertip over smooth gold, where the edge of the ring was warmed by Gwaine’s skin.

“ _Whomever_ I give this ring to,” Gwaine said, seriously, “will wear it forever.”

“Well, only, it’s a man’s ring,” Merlin pointed out. “No offense, of course, but would it not look a bit out of place on a woman’s hand?”

“Yes,” Gwaine agreed, easily. “It would.”

A servant knocked on their door to call them to breakfast, and Merlin was saved from any further painful contemplation of of Gwaine’s still-hypothetical yet apparently-inevitable discovery of True Love.

 

 ~*~

“So,” chortled Lord Bertilac, “Tell me if I have this straight: you have been traveling, directionless and without an army, looking for a place called the Green Chapel but not knowing where such a place may be, for the sole purpose of allowing a giant green man to decapitate you?”

Gwaine cleared his throat. “Well. When you put it like that it sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll say,” said Merlin.

“I think,” said Bertilac’s wife Ceriwyn, who was entirely too lovely and interested in Gwaine for Merlin’s peace of mind, “that Sir Gwaine shows extreme bravery in accepting this challenge.” Then she leaned forward and showed some extreme cleavage. Gwaine, to his credit, seemed just as uncomfortable about this display as Merlin was. The only person who appeared unaffected was, strangely, Ceriwyn’s husband.

“Indeed he does!” agreed Bertilac, apparently blithely ignorant to the dogged seduction going on across the breakfast table. “And you are in luck, Sir Gwaine, for the Green Chapel is a place I know well. It is just a few scant miles west of this very castle.”

Gwaine’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say I could ride west and be there before sunset?”

“Indeed you could! But as you still have three days left before your time comes, I believe, won’t you consider resting here with us? My wife and I would be delighted to have you both.”

“ _Delighted,_ ” agreed Ceriwyn, turning it into the dirtiest adjective Merlin had ever heard. Oh hell. This boded badly for everyone. Gwaine had been right all along.

“We couldn’t possibly,” demurred Gwaine, glancing sidelong at Lady Bertilac. “We have nothing to offer in return for your hospitality.”

“A promise, then,” said a craggy voice from the shadowed doorway. Out stepped an old crone, bent and withered, but with piercing blue eyes so clear and sharp that they appeared to bore straight through to Merlin’s heart. “The guests shall swear not to withhold anything from us, their benefactors, as we have withheld nothing from them.”

“A marvelous suggestion, thank you, madam!” crowed Bertilac. “It shall be like a game! After each of the three days you spend in my house, you must give me everything you managed to win that day. I in turn shall give you whatever game I manage to catch during my daily hunting trips!

“How is Gwaine to win anything while wandering about the castle?” Merlin wondered aloud.

“Yes, what if I don’t get anything?” asked Gwaine, looking for the trapdoor in the proposal.

“Oh, you’ll get something all right,” muttered Ceriwyn.

“The point of the agreement is not to trick you, Merlin,” said the crone. Merlin jumped at being addressed by his name, something that had not happened since they came to this castle. “The point is to place us all on even footing.”

“Well said. Sir Gwaine, Merlin, this is Mím. She is my wife’s maidservant and an invaluable asset to our household.”

Gwaine inclined his head and Mím curtsied stiffly, but she kept her eyes locked with Merlin’s. There was something extremely unnerving about that woman. “I wish you luck in your challenge, sirs,” she said, in a voice that suggested she wished no such thing. “If you will excuse me, I have things I must attend to.”

And then she was gone, so suddenly that Merlin wasn’t sure he’d actually seen her leave.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“What a charming woman,” exclaimed Gwaine, straight-faced, and Merlin spit out a mouthful of wine all over Lord Bertilac’s table.

“That was not funny,” Merlin insisted later, laughing. “I had to convince Lord Bertilac that I wasn’t choking. He was afraid for my life!”

“I was merely paying a compliment to the lovely Mím,” Gwaine said innocently. “I have no idea what you could be referring to.”

“You clotpole.”

“I’m sorry, I’m a _what?_ ”

“A clotpole. It’s the worst insult I can think of. I made it up for Arthur, so you can imagine.”

Gwaine smiled, a little thinly. “For Arthur, eh? Do I not deserve my own nickname, after our long friendship?”

“Of course you do. My special name for you shall be….” _Lufræden,_ thought Merlin. _My heart. My own. My..._ “…‘ponce.’”

“Oi!”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Merlin cackled as Gwaine chased him around the room. “You wear a ring around your neck and talk about how your true love shall last an eternity, it all looks a bit poncy. I’m not judging. Do you prefer ‘princess?‘ You’ve got the luxuriant hair for it.”

“I’ll give you poncy” Gwaine growled, and when a servant came in to fetch Gwaine they were on the floor, breathless with laughter, wrestling and being generally undignified.

“Sir Gwaine, the Lady Ceriwyn requests your presents in her chambers immediately.”

“I’ll be right there,” Gwaine said cordially, digging his fingers into Merlin’s side. Merlin gave an embarrassing yelp and glared.

“Very good, my lord,” said the servant with a carefully blank expression.

They didn’t even wait until he was all the way out the door before they cracked up again.

“Oh god,” said Gwaine, climbing to his feet and giving Merlin a hand-up. “That woman.”

“I _know_. Did you see her at dinner? She did everything except actually ask you to take her under the table.”

“Actually,” said Gwaine, rubbing his forehead, “she _did_ ask me to take her under the table, while Bertilac was talking with the serving boy.”

“Well…” Merlin stalled. “You aren’t actually going to do it, are you?” 

Gwaine raised his eyebrows. “What, under the table?” 

“No, at all! You aren’t going to do it at all!”

“Oh, _aren’t_ I?” Gwaine asked sweetly. “Why not, Merlin?”

Merlin gritted his teeth. “You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.” Gwaine had been preparing to leave, but now he leaned back against the door, looking at Merlin like he was throwing down a gauntlet. “Tell me why not.”

“You don’t want to,” Merlin tried.

“She’s very beautiful,” Gwaine reasoned, casually, insufferably. “Surely there are worse things I could do.”

“Lord Bertilac is your _host_ , Merlin reminded him, desperately. “You cannot tumble his wife!”

“The Lady Ceriwyn is my hostess. Should I not also do what she asks?”

“Not if it’s illegal!” Merlin cried, pulling at his own hair in frustration. “Come on, Gwaine, you’re better than this!”

“Clearly that’s not what you really think, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” said Gwaine, throwing up his hands. “I am going to see the Lady Ceriwyn. You should stay here and think about some more reasons why I shouldn’t bed her.”

“You are _infuriating,_ ” Merlin yelled after him, and Gwaine gave him a jaunty wave.

Gwaine didn’t come back to their quarters after that. Merlin didn’t see him until dinner, when Lord Bertilac presented Gwaine with his prize for the day: the antlers from a huge buck.

“Come, Gwaine,” he prompted. “What is it that you have managed to win in my absence? It is now mine, according to our agreement, remember!”

“It is my pleasure, my lord,” said Gwaine, and he grabbed Lord Bertilac by the front of his jerkin and pulled him into a long, slow kiss.

Merlin choked on his wine again, but this time Lord Bertilac didn’t seem all that concerned. Ceriwyn stared at the embrace, eyes huge and fascinated.

“My word!” chuckled Bertilac when he was finally released. “You did have a good day, didn’t you?”

“I did, my lord,” said Gwaine wickedly and winking at Ceriwyn. Merlin’s heart plummeted.

 

 ~*~

“Just tell me you didn’t,” Merlin was still saying the next day, unable to stop thinking about it no matter how much it hurt. “Please. Just say it.”

Gwaine groaned and flopped back down onto his bed, arm over his eyes. “I should have known. You were quiet all through breakfast. I see now that you were just… simmering.”

“I need to protect you from yourself!”

“Or,” said Gwaine dangerously, rolling to his feet, “you could stop _insulting me_ and figure out what you’re really upset about here.”

“This is not behavior befitting a knight of Camelot, and—”

“My lords?”

“ _WHAT?_ said Merlin and Gwaine together. The servant was shocked enough to allow a bit of surprise to creep into his permanently-blank expression.

“Sir Gwaine’s presence is required in the Lady Ceriwyn’s chambers.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” said Merlin.

“Tell the lady that I shall be right there,” said Gwaine, sweeping out the door. “And get Merlin here some tea. He needs to relax.”

“ _Ponce_ ,” said Merlin to himself, feelingly. Then he shot up from his bed and followed, determined to stop this before Gwaine got killed for it.

Once he was halfway to the lady’s chambers, however, he was sidetracked by a feeling; a sharp, cold, bright feeling, like a star made of ice that could still burn.

Merlin heard noises, inhuman ones, coming from the cracked-open door at the end of the hall. Peering through the small opening, he saw the crone, Mím, bending down to look into the strange, intelligent eyes of a raven that was perching on her bedside table. She was speaking to it, some combination of bird-language and magic, and smiling.

The raven was chewing a piece of dried pork, and looked extremely familiar. Mím’s smile looked familiar, too, though he did not know why.

Merlin jumped back from the door and pressed his back to the wall, hoping that the woman had not heard or sensed him there. But it was a vain hope.

“Who is there?” called the crackling, weary voice, and Merlin felt compelled to answer.

“Me,” he said, pushing the door open. “I am Sir Gwaine’s traveling companion.”

“No,” said Mím with a small smile, stroking the raven’s feathers with a dry, delicate fingertip. “You are more than that, I think.”

“Well,” said Merlin, flushing. “I am his friend. And sometimes I think I am more, though I doubt he would want it that way.”

Mím raised an eyebrow, reminding Merlin unnervingly of Gaius at his most condescending. “Indeed. I was, however, referring to your power. Singular, is it not?”

“My power?” Merlin swallowed. The longer he stalled, the more the realized how pointless it was. This woman was as powerful as he was, at least, and she was sheltered, controlled. He wasn’t a match for her. “Why do I keep wanting to answer you? And why couldn’t I feel you before?”

“I am protected. You, however…” She grinned, showing a surprising number of teeth. “You are wide open, for everyone to see, to know. You feel like the rain, you know, and fire.”

“Well, what do you know,” Merlin said dazedly, “Gwaine was right about the fire.”

She laughed. “It is good to meet you. I’ve felt you all this time, approaching us. It’s comforting to see that you are not such a threat.”

Merlin bristled. “I could be. I killed Nimueh.”

“I heard. Along with that bear I sent.”

“If you go through with it,” said Merlin, taking a step closer to the witch and drawing himself up to his full height, “if you try to hurt him again, I’ll kill you too. Call the lightning right down from the sky and _end you_. Do you understand me?”

“You’re a green, untried boy, still.”

“But I could do it.” Merlin clenched a fist, stood his ground. “You know that I could. And I will, if you take him from me.”

“My, my,” she smirked. “Maybe not so _untried_ after all, hm?”

“Oh my god,” Merlin groaned, letting his guard down and banging his head against the door frame. “I hate this day.”

Mím just laughed. “This day is turning out rather well for me, so far.”

Gwaine got a pair of boar’s tusks from Lord Bertilac that night, giant ones. In return, Bertilac received two passionate-looking kisses, with Merlin looking on in pure fury. Mím, who had joined them at the dinner table, gave Merlin a wink that made him want to pick up his chair and toss it through one of Bertilac’s beautiful stained glass windows. Maybe the blue and green one, which he’d heard Lady Ceriwyn say was her favorite.

 

 ~*~

The sun rose on their last day in Bertilac’s castle, and it could not have come soon enough for Merlin, who was feeling unable to cope with all the weirdness going on in this place: Mím, who seemed familiar yet threatening, indulgent yet dangerous; Bertilac, who was a complete mystery, as no man was that jovial and accommodating. Gwaine, who was shagging a complete bint, and a married one besides, and who still had the gall to look at Merlin sometimes like he was something precious. And over it all loomed the specter of the green knight, the shape of Gwaine’s destiny. By all logic, Gwaine would die tomorrow, and Merlin didn’t know if he’d be powerful enough to stop it, not with Mím around mucking up the works.

More than almost anything, Merlin wanted their stay in Bertilac’s castle to end, and for it to be just him and Gwaine again, alone in the forest. But still, he would suffer a thousand Míms and a million Lady Ceriwyns, if it meant that Gwaine would live past tomorrow.

He was silent as they were led back to their room after breakfast, with instructions to rest for tomorrow while Bertilac went hunting.

“Delicious sausages this morning, eh Merlin?” Gwaine was still in the distant, oddly-cheerful mood that he’d been in ever since Ceriwyn had first summoned him. If this was what being in love did to Gwaine, Merlin didn’t like it. “Nothing better than a hot, juicy, sweet sausage to wake you up in the mornings. Oh, speaking of juicy, looks like I’ve got a little something on my sleeve, here…” He twisted his arm around to get a look, and then gave up and stripped off his shirt in one sinuous motion.

“...what do you think, Merlin?”

“…Sorry?” Merlin raised his eyes from Gwaine’s chest, where (thank god) the gold ring was still visible on the silver chain, shining out against swarthy skin and a light dusting of dark hair. “What do I think about what?”

“The Lady Ceriwyn, of course!” Of course. “If she summons me again—and she will, let’s be honest—what shall I wear? Or perhaps she would prefer me like this?” He spun in a slow circle, arms out in an un-self-conscious display of shirtlessness, thighs flexing maddeningly in tight, dark breeches.

“I don’t care what you do,” Merlin ground out, his throat tight.

“Don’t you?” Gwaine dragged a hand through his hair, and Merlin’s own hand itched to follow.

“Whatever you want. Wear that, go on. It suits your _lack of shame._ ”

“Being half-naked will certainly save time,” Gwaine said reasonably, crossing his arms over his chest and winking, and oh, that was _it._

Merlin stalked over to where Gwaine was standing and stared him down, using every centimeter of his scant height advantage. “Shut up,” he snarled, which was admittedly a really weak threat, but he backed it up by grabbing Gwaine’s necklace and tugging him into a fierce kiss.

Merlin wasn’t quite sure what reaction he was expecting, but the one he got was nothing short of miraculous. Gwaine stumbled a bit, pulled off balance, and then let himself fall forward, into Merlin. His arms uncrossed and fell, boneless, to his sides, hands coming up again slowly to hold Merlin’s waist, thumbs stroking to the soft, steady rhythm that Merlin had unconsciously allowed the biting kiss to melt into.

Merlin pulled Gwaine’s hair a bit and sank his teeth sharply into his lower lip, just to bring this back around to his original point. Gwaine’s moan rumbled against his chest, and his fingers clenched in Merlin’s shirt.

“So, just to be clear,” said Merlin breathlessly when they had parted, “you’re not actually in love with Lady Ceriwyn?”

Gwaine growled wordlessly and pulled him back in, reclaiming Merlin’s mouth and wrapping him up tighter than he’d ever been held in his _life_ , which probably should have felt scary and suffocating, but instead it felt _fantastic._

“Sir Gwaine, I—oh!” Lady Ceriwyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Excuse me, my lords.”

Gwaine sighed heavily and rested his forehead against Merlin’s. “Don’t you knock?” he rasped, which was the least chivalrous thing he’d said since being knighted. Merlin was _thrilled._

Ceriwyn, surprisingly, smiled. “I wanted to come see you myself, on a matter of extreme urgency and…” she glanced at Merlin, who was still quite inextricably twined with Gwaine, “...secrecy.”

“I will hear nothing without Merlin present,” Gwaine said grandly. He released Merlin from his embrace, which was a shame, but then picked up one of Merlin’s hands and held it against his heart, which was almost as nice.

“Very well.” She unwrapped a silk belt from around her waist, a beautiful length of sage-green cloth embroidered with white-flowered vines. “I offer you this, Sir Gwaine. It is a magic girdle, and whilst you wear it, no harm can come to you.”

“He doesn’t need it,” said Merlin, perhaps more harshly than he needed to.

Ceriwyn arched an eyebrow. “Young man, if you want your champion to survive the green knight’s challenge, he will need protection.”

“That’s right,” Merlin said, dripping with condescension, “ _my_ champion. And he already has protection.” He lifted his chin. “Will that be all, my lady?”

“But, Sir Gwaine—”

“Get out, please,” said Gwaine, who was now gazing at Merlin with dark, glassy eyes.

She went, taking the green girdle with her, and Gwaine pushed Merlin against the wall.

“Your champion,” he breathed, dragging his lips across Merlin’s jaw and down his neck. “ _Your_ champion, oh, _yes._.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, I, ah—” Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath as Gwaine grazed his adam’s apple with his teeth. “I just said it so she would back off.”

“Oh, I know,” Gwaine chuckled, pulling at the knot of Merlin’s handkerchief. “That’s why it was so… sexy… _damn it,_ , Merlin, is this thing sewn on?!”

“Just…” Merlin gestured distractedly, meaning to magic the thing off his neck, but overshot it a little and ended up disappearing his shirt as well. “Um…”

“We need to lie down, right now,” said Gwaine a bit shakily, moving big, calloused hands over newly-revealed skin and rasping his beard down the side of Merlin’s neck, which was _wonderful._

“You just want to get me into bed, then,” Merlin accused, shuddering with happiness at the thought.

“Well, yes, but more importantly you are amazing and lovely and and it’s making my knees unsteady, so I have no desire to stand up anymore.”

Merlin giggled a bit hysterically. “Oh dear, I can’t believe you said that. Who says that?” He spread his fingers over the hard muscles of Gwaine’s stomach, and then lower, hooking them into the top of his breeches. “You really, honestly have no shame.”

“Never, Merlin,” Gwaine agreed, pulling Merlin toward one of the beds with a huge grin. “Shame is nothing more than a bad habit, and one I plan to train _you_ out of immediately.”

The he picked Merlin up and _threw him across the bed_ , which would have been terribly embarrassing if Merlin had had any shame at all left. (He didn’t.)

That night, before dinner, Bertilac gave Gwaine the soft, beautiful pelt of a fox that he had killed. In return, Gwaine gave him three extremely chaste kisses, while Merlin blushed and smiled into his wine goblet.

 

**FITT FOUR:**

_Now dawns for Gwaine the day of death,_   
_the morning he had dreaded most—_   
_and yet, his heart was full and happy._   
_His heart, in fact, he held in his arms:_   
_his sleeping friend, now stretching awake_   
_and wriggling around, muscles worn-out_   
_and aching from hours of athletic use._   
_Sir Gwaine had never gotten the urge_   
_so strong to stare into someone’s eyes_   
_in the dawn light after their dance was over._   
_But Merlin was someone entirely special,_   
_he knew, and Merlin should know it too,_   
_before…_   
_Before Gwaine could go,_   
_fulfilling the accord—_   
_first Merlin had to know_   
_how much he was adored._

“Morning,” Merlin said with a soft smile. He leaned over and nuzzled between Gwaine’s collarbones, because he had always wanted to, and now he could.

“Merlin…”

“You’re not going to die!” Merlin told him, happily. “It came to me in my dream, and probably because of that stupid bint Ceriwyn, so I guess she’s not all bad. But I can give you a charm, a powerful one, and you’ll wear it like normal clothing when you face the green man, and then I don’t have to worry about being strong enough to fight him, or Mím, or anyone!”

“Mím? Why would you want to fight Mím?”

“Oh, did I not say? She’s an extremely powerful sorcerer,” Merlin said dismissively. “She attacked us with the woodland creatures and trained her magic bird to steal our food. But it doesn’t matter, because I am brilliant and very powerful, and you will be safe, because today, there is absolutely nothing I cannot do!”

He levered himself up on one elbow and raised a hand, and his blue handkerchief floated off the ground and into his waiting hand. He spread it out on the bedspread between them, smoothing the fabric with his hands, and put his entire heart into the incantation:

“ _Ealdorneru_ ” he whispered, reaching his other hand out to touch Gwaine’s face as he spoke. “ _Mín bréostcofa._ ” Then he grinned, feeling free and exhilarated, and knotted the handkerchief around Gwaine’s neck. “There. A favor. Now we can celebrate.” He applied himself to kissing Gwaine’s chest, but Gwaine was less pliable than expected. “Don’t tell me you’re too tired. I thought you were a big, strong warrior.” He bit Gwaine’s earlobe gently. “Mm, My _champion._ ”

Gwaine burst out laughing. “You are _terrible._ Yes, yes, I shall have to ravish you thoroughly in just a moment, but first I, _mmm_ , I need to you stop what you are doing for just a moment.”

Merlin pouted and drew back, resting on Gwaine’s chest and looking up at him reproachfully. “Well, all right, but make it quick, whatever it is.”

“I have no intention of rushing this, Merlin!” Merlin groaned a fell back against the pillows as Gwaine chuckled. “You must understand… you know, of course, that I never bedded the Lady Ceriwyn.”

“What?” Merlin sat up. “But you said… you said you did! And why not?”

“Why not? Merlin, I’m not in love with that woman, I told you. She frightens me a bit, to be honest.”

“Yes, but…” Merlin waved his hands around, desperately confused. “She’s beautiful, you said it. Surely you’ve bedded women that you didn’t love before.”

“I certainly have, as I have never loved a woman before. But as she is our generous host, the Lady Ceriwyn agreed that it would be unreasonable of her to ask me to be with her when I am deeply, completely, and permanently in love with somebody else. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I…” Merlin pressed his hand to his chest, sure that his heart was about to pound right out of his ribs. “Yes. That is true.”

“And so…” Gwaine sat up and unlatched his necklace, sliding the ring off. “perhaps you had better wear this, from now on. Just to avoid such confusion, in the future.”

He slid the ring onto Merlin’s left ring finger, and then smiled and moved it to his thumb when he realized how skinny Merlin’s fingers were. He brought the hand to his mouth and kissed the ring, then all of Merlin’s knuckles. “All right, then?’

“All right,” breathed Merlin, and Gwaine kissed a tear off his cheek.

Then they celebrated. Three times.

 

~*~

Bertilac led them to the Green Chapel a few hours later, Merlin’s stomach such a confusing mess of gnawing worry and fluttering contentment that he didn’t know what to do with himself. The reached a misty clearing, and Merlin halted his borrowed horse suddenly, feeling the familiar, expansive presence of the green sorcerer.

“He’s here,” said Merlin. Overhead, the ominous caw of a raven was carried away on the wind.

“Yes,” agreed Bertilac, “he is here.”

“But… this is no chapel. It’s just a rock.” It was a giant tower-shaped boulder, in fact, thickly covered in bright-green moss and exuding a disconcerting amount of magic.

“A chapel,” said Bertilac, his voice different somehow, fuller, “is wherever you feel closest to your faith. To your roots. I am here, Sir Gwaine, Lord Emrys. I am ready.”

Merlin twisted around, and there he was: the green knight, who was apparently also called Bertilac.

“Ah, well,” said Gwaine. “That was rather obvious now that I think about it.”

“Kneel, Sir Gwaine, and accept your blow,” the green knight boomed, gesturing to a small, flat stone, crusted with blood. “My ax?”

Gwaine got down from his horse, and then helped Merlin down as if he were a woman. It was nicer than Merlin would ever admit. “Er, about that…” The raven swooped down seemingly out of nowhere, bearing the satchel that held the giant green ax. The bird dropped it into Bertilac’s hand. “Never mind,” said Gwaine, and knelt.

“You are very brave,” said the green Lord Bertilac, jumping down from his horse just as he had last week, in the hall at Camelot. “Goodbye, Sir Gwaine!”

He swung the ax in a high, wide arc, bringing it down hard toward Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine did nothing except glance once more at Merlin, and then close his eyes. Merlin, however, was in a panic, his post-sex confidence from that morning dwindling to nothing as he wracked his brain for extra protection spells that he could throw unobtrusively at the last minute.

He was too late, but it didn’t matter. The ax connected with Gwaine’s neck—and shattered into dozens of pieces.

No one moved for a long moment. Then, Bertilac broke into ribald laughter, and Gwaine gasped and fell back from the stone, breathing hard.

“Excellent!” cried Bertilac. “I had no idea your enchantment would be so strong, Lord Emrys! To protect his neck, yes, but to shatter my ax! What did you _do_ to that handkerchief?”

“You knew about the protection spell?” Merlin boggled. “And only the druids call me Emrys. And I don’t like it.”

“Of course I knew! I was never going to kill Sir Gwaine, after all. Good lord!” He shook his head. “I’m not a monster!”

“Then, what—”

“Does it really matter, Merlin? I am alive, after all.” Gwaine was still sitting on the ground, touching Merlin’s handkerchief in fascination. “Well, that was bloody terrifying.”

“My wife and I are, as you have already guessed, druids,” Bertilac was explaining. “Our power is tied to the land, and we are able to call on it or conceal it at will.”

“And that’s why I couldn’t sense it when you were Lord Bertilac,” Merlin said, nodding. “But… why do all of this? What was the point? And why does your wife’s maidservant want Gwaine dead?”

“Mím?” Bertilac chuckled. “Oh, dear, she didn’t tell you, did she? She’s learned so much, yet I fear there is still a streak of the vindictive in her. Mím!”

The old woman appeared in front of them, the raven on her shoulder. “Merlin,” she said, with a deep nod and a smirk. “I think I am ready to forgive you.”

“But… what for?”

The old woman’s form shimmered and rippled, and then it was suddenly not Mím standing in front of him, but Morgana, in Mím’s simple clothing.

“For poisoning me, and lying to me about magic,” she said, still smiling. “But then, you have a lot to forgive as well. I don’t mind if it takes you some time.”

“Morgana…”

“Bugger,” said Gwaine, climbing to his feet.

Morgana, who had disappeared a year ago, clutching Morgause’s body, her rage bringing down the castle around her. “What is all of this? Revenge?”

“No! Well, a little bit.” Bertilac rolled his eyes. “Just a little! Bertilac and Ceriwyn, they found me. I was…” She shuddered, delicately. “I was a mess, Merlin. I was insane. But I… I regained myself, when Morgause… when she was gone. And Bertilac and Ceriwyn, they taught me everything—where my power is kept, how to call on it, and how to control it. I could probably teach you now,” she said, wickedly, “green and untried as you are.”

“But you _don’t_ want to kill us?” Merlin needed to get this part straight.

“No! Not exactly. I… I felt you, once I learned how. You sort of broadcast all across the land, you’re that powerful.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I’m jealous of you, or anything.”

“She wouldn’t come out of her room for a week after she found out,” said Bertilac cheerfully, and Morgana scoffed.

“It was a day, at the most. At any rate, I wanted… a test. Something to see where magic stood in Camelot, now that Uther is gone. And Bertilac suggested the challenge. A test to see if a clearly magical knight would be treated the same way as a non-magical one. And he was.” She smiled serenely. “A good start. And I foresaw, of course, that you would either accept the challenge in Arthur’s stead or come along to protect him, so I would be able to plead my case directly to Camelot’s sorcerer, here, where I am protected.”

Merlin was astounded. All of this, and he had never fully realized—a sorcerer had revealed himself in Camelot, and he had been dealt with according to the knight’s code. Miracle of miracles. Perhaps Arthur was on his way after all. “But what about the animals?” he pointed out. “And Ceriwyn?”

Morgana blushed a bit. “Ah, well… the animals were mine, as you know. And I just wanted to scare you, a little. They wouldn’t have really hurt you!” she said, hurriedly. “I’m perhaps still a bit… bitter.”

“We’re working on that,” said Bertilac, patting Morgana gently on the shoulder.

“And Ceriwyn?” pressed Merlin, who thought Bertilac was really a nice man, all considering, and probably deserved better than that slag for his wife.

“Oh, Ceriwyn.” Bertilac laughed again. “It was her idea. She wanted to help you boys, you see, and I gather that she went a bit overboard.”

“Effective, though,” said Gwaine, grinning.

“What?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “What was effective?”

“She wanted to make you jealous, of course,” Bertilac boomed, clapping Merlin on the back. “Right blind, you were being.”

“I’m eternally grateful, because you,” Gwaine told him, moving in close, “are an idiot.” He picked up Merlin’s left hand, bowed low, and kissed it. Morgana made a cooing sound that Merlin had never heard her make before.

All told, it was one of the most humiliating, weirdest, best moments of Merlin’s life.

 

 ~*~

“So will she be coming back to Camelot?” Gwaine asked. “Morgana, I mean.”

“Maybe. She wants to, some day. I think she just wanted to make sure that she could be accepted, should she ever be ready to face everyone again.”

“You forgave her rather quickly. After everything she’s done…”

“She’s my friend,” Merlin sighed. “She’ll always be that, first. It’s partly my fault that those things happened to her. I’m grateful that she decided to give us another chance.” He glanced over at Gwaine, who was riding beside him on one of Bertilac’s horses, leant to them to speed their journey home. “That handkerchief looks ridiculous on you. You realize that you can take it off, now.”

“Merlin,” said Gwaine, “I want you to know that as long as I live, I will never, ever take off this handkerchief.”

“Okay, but, I think the spell must have worn off by now. It isn’t permanent.”

“That’s not why. It is my first favor,” Gwaine proclaimed, “from my first love, for my first official quest as a knight of Camelot. It is a relic of great importance.”

“Ah,” said Merlin. His smile was beginning to hurt his face. “I suppose you’d better hang onto it, then.”

 


End file.
